Father's Day
by Blissaster
Summary: aka That Sunday of the Year. "After all this time, he's driven mad by our good behavior. Go figures." The longer version of "Father's Day" from Snapshots. Re-uploaded. You can find the reason why inside.


**Thanks to:** My sugar, my darling, my beta, **BookJunkie,** who, somehow could find the time in her busy life to beta my story.

* * *

The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Bruce was waking up with a feeling of intense dread. It was Sunday. _That_ Sunday. The day when Dick is more _generous_ with his pranks, when Jason goes crazier than usual, and when good and obedient Tim takes a sudden interest in helping Dick's mischief. And even though Bruce had yet to find out what Damian would do on this day, he was sure it would be nothing good. Not for him, anyway.

It was Father's Day.

He went to the bathroom to ready himself, then rummaged through his secret stashes of various weapons –one under the sink, another under his bed, on the top shelf of his cupboard… He knew other people considered him paranoid, but in his defense, he had good reasons to be, his sons not the least of them. Bruce carefully concealed as many of these weapons as possible on his person – including several batarangs, throwing knives, bolas, explosive gel, a few of thermite grenades and, of course, knock-out pellets and tranquilizer guns for if – _when_ – his sons got out control.

When he was sure he was ready he headed for the dining room, dreading what he would find there. An image of the place wrecked, with Alfred lying unconscious somewhere amidst the chaos (his trustworthy butler would not let _anyone_ mess with the sacred room without a fight) made him shudder in… no, not fear, but certainly _anxiety_. He refused to believe that he could be scared of his own children.

His hand out, reaching for the door knob, he hesitated for a moment. Although he wanted to just be done with it, he needed time to prepare himself if that vision from his overactive imagination came to life.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he opened the door.

What he saw was certainly not what he had expected.

His sons were sitting at the table. Dick sat on the right of the head chair, Damian by his side. Across from Dick sat Tim, with Jason on his left. They were chatting quietly, which was not what surprised him – because his sons _could_ be quiet when they wanted to, no matter what people said – it was the fact that they were being so… _civilized_ towards one another. Even Damian – who had been raised by Talia, _TALIA!_ , and had kept trying to kill Tim numerous time, though thank goodness, he only came close once back when they had met for the first time come close to actually killing Tim – was seated calmly and **smiling** at his brothers. At _Tim_. Smiling! Not a smugly grinning or smirking belittlingly... Granted, his smile still looked somewhat predatory, but it was a _massive_ improvement over his usual expression.

Bruce wondered if he had unwittingly entered the Twilight Zone.

Finally, Damian noticed him standing by the door.

"Good morning, father," his youngest greeted with a nod, as formal as ever.

"Hi, Bruce." Dick waved, while sporting a small smile. There was no mischievous gleam in his eyes, no scarily wide smile that spelled D-O-O-M. Nothing.

It took Bruce every ounce of self-control he had to **not** start throwing batarangs in his oldest son's direction, demanding where his _real_ son was.

Tim and Jason, whose backs were to him, turned around to face him.

"Morning, Bruce," Tim said, while Jason merely grunted and nodded slightly in a curt greeting.

These calm exchanges did not alleviate his anxiety. If anything, they made him all the more uneasy. The whole thing felt too much like the calm before the storm.

If his sons were _this_ calm, he did not want to think of how bad the storm would be when it hit. And it _would_ hit, he was sure of it. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

Breakfast was a peaceful affair, if a little bit tense on Bruce's part. He simply could not sit and eat calmly when he knew perfectly well that his sons were up to no good.

"So," he tried to sound as casual as possible, "What are your plans for today?" If he could only have some clue about his enemies' plans he would have the power to stop them. Yes, today he considered his sons – all four of them – to be his enemies. His arch nemeses, in fact.

His two younger sons started talking at once, Damian's loud voice drowning out Tim's. A ghost of a smile graced Bruce's lips. He knew this routine. He knew how to deal with it.

Then what his youngest son was actually saying sank in and he frowned.

"I know you hate guns, Father, but these guns are not dangerous at all. Surely you can see—"

In the back of his mind, Bruce made a note to interrogate the person who was responsible for Damian's newly found fascination with guns. And by interrogate he meant yelling at for corrupting his (admittedly already corrupted) son, complete with threats of severe bodily harm should that person talk to Damian ever again.

Now, if that person happened to be Jason... Since his threats would be empty – and it would be _obvious_ to Jason – he would have to think of another creative punishment. Like cleaning every foot of the Cave with a toothbrush. Yes, that would be a good punishment; Jason needed to learn patience, anyway, and Bruce was in dire need of a good laugh. Yes, his sense of humor was… _a little bit_ demented. So? Sue him.

The argument between Damian and Tim was getting louder, snapping Bruce out of his thoughts. He suppressed an amused smile as he moved to stop them. But before he could do it, his oldest son – or should he say, his son's impostor? – intervened.

"Boys." Dick's voice was firm, easily overpowering the other two, "We already agreed on something, remember?"

If _that_ wasn't ominous, Bruce did not know what _was_.

Jason added, a smirk on his lips, "Listen to him, brats."

Since when did Jason encourage others to listen? And to _Dick_ of all people?

If he hadn't been sure of the wrongness of it all before, he was now.

"We don't have any plans for today, Bruce," Dick said, finally answering his question.

"Except for _The_ Plan," Jason mumbled under his breath, though it was loud enough for Bruce to hear. Judging from the grin on Jason's face, he had _meant_ it to be heard.

Dick narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. He looked like he wanted to smack Jason upside the head, but he was too far away. Judging from the way Dick was eyeing the bread knife on the table, Bruce was _sure_ he was thinking of throwing it at Jason. But today, for whatever reason, he seemed to be resisting the urge to start a fight. Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately, depending on how the day progressed), Tim seemed to understand his oldest brother's dilemma, so he elbowed Jason in the ribs.

Jason glared at Tim who merely smirked. "Remember the plan, Jay," he said in a quiet whisper. Jason's glare became even more heated, but he said nothing more on the subject.

 _Great_ , Bruce thought. _For some reason my sons have agreed to join forces_. As if that in itself was not bad enough, they had joined forces to come up with something called "The Plan," capitalization absolutely necessary.

"We can do whatever you want, Bruce," Dick said, his smile back in place as if the last few minutes had not just happened.

Bruce forced himself to smile back, but he did not believe, for one moment, that his sons would truly do what he asked of them. For his sons to willingly do as told would be a miracle, and he was not one to believe in miracles.

The thought of having to face the joined forces of his sons – 'and their _Plan_ ,' his mind eagerly reminded him – made his stomach churn. There seemed to be insurmountable odds against him.

Then again, he always loved a challenge. If his boys had a plan, then he would unravel it.

* * *

Throughout the day he kept a close eye on each of his sons, waiting for the moment when they had finally had enough of this good behavior charade and chose to launch their attack. But they kept behaving themselves, even when he succeeded in tricking them into going to the biggest munitions store in Gotham.

Bruce had expected (hoped) that Jason and Damian would try to buy out the store. He was sad to say that he was mistaken (though his wallet looked a lot happier). Damian _was_ excited (the kid looked as if he was about to jump up and down where he stood – thank goodness Dick was able to calm him _before_ anyone got hurt), but he did not seem inclined to buy anything. Tim merely rolled his eyes as they walked through the door, as if he knew exactly what Bruce was trying with this stunt (the boy was a genius after all).

Then there was Jason, who gave him the stink eye and then went on to tell anyone who would listen which were his favorite guns listing his reasons in all their bloody details. Still, his second son did not try to swindle a handgun out of him. Which was... _not_ normal behavior for Jason.

Then as if he wasn't worried enough, Dick blatantly refused Bruce's invitation to go across the street to Prank Palace, the equal of heaven on Earth for every Gotham prankster.

"No, Bruce," Dick answered, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't want to go, as I've told you over and over again." Bruce opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say anything, Dick quickly continued, "And no, I'm _not_ going to change my mind."

"Are you—"

"Yes, I'm sure, Bruce." Dick glared at Bruce, although by Bat-standards it was quite mild. Then his face softened. "Today is all about you," he said with a smile.

Dick might have fooled everyone else with his nice guy act, but Bruce knew better. He had lived with the man since he was just a boy; he knew that behind Dick's oh-so-sweet smile lay a cunning mind. If Dick were planning his demise – and Tim, perfectionist that he was, would be helping him with the details – he would certainly hide it by spending the day playing nice with him.

"Today, we _all_ want to focus on you," Dick added.

While what Bruce heard was…

"Today, we _all_ are going to bring you down!"

Bruce was pretty sure Dick did _not_ laugh evilly when he said it, like some lowly villain – if his sons were to change sides, they would surely be above all that; they would be the best of the best. Case in point: Jason. But then, back when Dick was a part of the Teen Titans he was well-known for his, as Wally West liked to put it, creepy laughter.

Bruce shook his head to clear it. He turned his attention to his younger sons. One of the frightening things about his sons teaming up was that each was fiercely independent; if he focused on one at a time the rest would be free to do as they please. And wasn't that a sobering thought?

"And you two," Bruce turned to face Tim and Damian. "I'm sure there are places you want to go, today?"

"Nope," Tim said, shaking his head. Bruce might be letting his paranoia get the better of him, but he thought he saw Tim share a glance with Dick, who then looked at Jason. Maybe they were finally about to execute their pla—

Bruce's train of thought was derailed by his youngest son.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be than here," Damian said, with a straight face.

Bruce was stunned into silence. Never, in a million years – not that he'd live that long – would he have imagined his youngest son could say something as… sweet as that. Although, judging by the snickers coming from Tim and Jason and the amused smile Dick was trying to hide, someone had _forced_ Damian to say that particular line.

 _But why? As a distraction?_ Bruce looked around, shoulders hunched defensively. _Where's the real attack coming from, then?_

Following his lead, his sons also fell into a defensive stance. Their eyes darted around, looking for some bad guys – be they real villains or just wanna-bes – out to ruin their day.

But there was not one around except his four children, who, although they could be as dangerous as any villain, as of now seemed to pose no danger to anyone (even Bruce).

The boys relaxed, a confused expression etched on each one of their faces.

"False alarm?" Tim asked no one in particular.

Jason was the first to understand what had just happened. "Nothing's more annoying than an overgrown Bat with paranoia," he muttered under his breath. His eyes narrowed looking at Bruce before he turned his accusing look on Dick. "You said _The Plan_ would _work_."

Dick looked back at Bruce, a frown marring his face. "Well, we did everything _he_ told us."

"We did," Jason agreed, "And it _didn't_ work!"

Dick could only shrug. Jason glared at him, leaving Dick to roll his eyes and huff out a breath in frustration. "Abort then?" he asked, looking at each of his brothers in turn. Jason and Damian both turned away in annoyance, while Tim looked right back at him, resigned.

"I think we better minimalize the casualties," Tim replied, sighing softly.

If Bruce didn't have the immense control that he was known for, he would be yelling childishly, at the top of his lungs, "I WIN!"

He merely smirked. Inwardly.

Bruce thought that would be the end of it. He expected his sons to start pestering him that now their evil scheme had been neutralized.

He was wrong.

His sons continued to act on their best behavior.

Even though he had dreamed that such a day would since he had first taken Dick in, he knew now that it was a foolish dream. He could never at peace, no matter how his children were behaving. He just grew more and more tense as the day wore on.

Fortunately, the family had returned to the Manor when he finally snapped.

"Who are you and where are my kids?" Bruce demanded, his arms crossed over his chest.

"What are you talking about, Bruce?" not-Dick asked back, seeming genuinely confused.

 _If this… this_ creature _thinks he can deceive me, he is sorely mistaken!_ "Don't play stupid. You must be aliens, or shape-shifters, or _something_ , because you _can't_ be my sons."

"And why the hell not?" not-Jason ground out heatedly. Bruce's heart swelled. He knew this Jason. But then not-Dick put a hand on his arm to calm him down, and it actually worked! Bruce cursed inwardly, just when he thought that he was making progress…

"Why not, Bruce?" not-Tim asked, blue eyes just as curious as they usually were. But this could not be his Tim, it just couldn't…

"Because you're all just… You're too… nice! Too obedient! Not even you," Bruce glared towards not-Tim, "are _this_ obedient, and you three never are!" his glare turned up a notch as he directed it towards them. His hands gestured wildly in his sons' – ahem, _not_ -sons' – general direction. "Because there is just no way that you two," he glared at Jason and Damian, "would pass up an opportunity to pick a fight! And because you," he turned to Dick, "for once are acting your age! If that's not a sign of the apocalypse, I don't know what is."

Dick blinked owlishly, obviously not quite understanding Bruce's ramblings. Then his confusion faded and he groaned, slapping his forehead. "After all this time, he's driven mad by our good behavior. Go figure."

"Stop being such a drama queen, Bruce." Jason rolled his eyes. "We just weren't in the mood to fight. Right kid?" he directed his question to Damian, who simply nodded in agreement.

"You're doing it again!" Bruce pointed an accusing finger at Damian, who looked genuinely confused.

"Doing what?"

"Agreeing with _him_!" Pointing now at Jason.

"Hey!" Jason protested, taking offense. "What's so bad about that?"

"I do not understand your problem, father." Damian frowned clearly losing patience.

"You two never agree with anyone, let alone each other. _Never!_ "

The four impersonators – because Bruce was sure now that these were not his kids – exchanged amused glances.

"Are you saying that you actually like it when we're being our difficult selves?" not-Dick asked, his grin becoming wider by the second.

Bruce frowned as he contemplated his answer. Well, no, he wouldn't say he enjoyed it when Dick pulled immature pranks, when Jason acted like sarcastic prick, when Tim corrected everyone in that know-it-all way of his, and when Damian… acted like Damian. Certainly not. But at least, he knew how to deal with them, then. Apparently not-Dick took his silence to mean 'yes.' His lips curled upward in that oh-so-familiar mischievous smile, his blue eyes glinting. Bruce could easily imagine the gears in Dick's brain grinding against each other as they began to speed up.

"Well, in that case, and seeing how it's still Father's day and all, we should give you what you want, shouldn't we?" Dick's voice was honey sweet. Bruce was sure now that this was his son; no one, not even an alien with shape-shifting abilities could look _this_ cunning, but Dick. And he knew for a fact that the sweeter Dick was the crazier the prank he was pulling would turn out to be.

But nothing prepared him for what happened next.

Jason moved first, throwing a knock-out pellet on the ground in front of Bruce. He tried to hold his breath, he really did. But not even Clark could hold his breath forever and he could only hope his sons would get knocked out fir— his eyes narrowed as he noticed the gas masks set firmly put on their faces. _When the hell did they put on those?_

Damn. He'd been too preoccupied preparing himself for actual combat that he forgot to bring defensive gadgets with him.

If only he'd been quicker to react he could have beaten his sons at their own game, even before the so-called game had gotten started. He might be the freaking Batman, but his sons were _his sons_ ; once you let them get a foot in the door, it became nearly impossible to shut them out. Plus, four to one were never good odds.

As if to prove his thoughts, his sons edged closer, forming a cautious circle around him. He felt both pride – _Ha! They_ can _work together just fine!_ – and annoyance as he looked hopelessly for opening between them.

The one time they all chose to work together was to rise against him. Of freaking course!

* * *

 **A/N:** I don't know if it's clear or not, but the "he" the boys were talking about, you know, the one who told them to go with The Plan, was Alfred. I imagine he just wanted to make sure that the boys did not ruin Father's day for Bruce. But, well, as you can see, the plan backfired. Road to Hell paved with good intention and all that. ;)

I wanted to post it ASAP once BJ sent it back to me (which was ages ago). But, she believed I should make the second chapter, to show what happened to Bruce after the end. Since I was not sure my imagination was wild enough to satisfy her (or your) expectation about what happened to Bruce once the boys got him unconscious, I chose to post this as it is now. (Of course, after I got BJ's blessing!)

 **Disclaimer:** And here I thought the fact that I don't own the Bat is clear enough already.

 **I'm sorry I'm an idiot!** Okay, so, I already uploaded this on August 26. And somehow, I did a (stupid, idiotic) mistake by putting "Dutch" as the language. That's why I re-uploaded this today. I just want to say sorry for the people who already reviewed, faved or followed this story (even if this is a oneshot).

So, I am sorry. To a guest named **Jesse** who reviewed already.

To the people who put this story on their fave: **La Louve a la Plume,** _RedRobyn2,_ **Rockin' Robin02,** _VoxPopuli0825,_ **awesomenaruto,** _ivyknightfire_ **, taylovesbevin**

To the people who followed this story: **Mireilles3,** _RedRobyn2,_ **Rockin' Robin02,** _VoxPopuli0825,_ **awesomenaruto**

And to my beta, **BookJunkie,** who, already put this on her C2. I'm really sorry I just realized that I put the wrong language few days after I uploaded it. I'm sorry I had to re-upload this story. (I like to check the view of my stories. When I checked this one, I wondered how a story could get a fave or a follow without having any view, now I have my answer I suppose...) Sorry, again!


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